


All You Can Squeeze From a Lemon

by mckays_girl



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10004666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mckays_girl/pseuds/mckays_girl
Summary: Rodney McKay just went through a horrible break-up and wants nothing to do with women for awhile; he doesn't even want to look at them.  Needing a little time to himself, and an opportunity to work on a side project with no distractions, he books a vacation at an all male resort.  It will be easy to politely (or not so politely) brush off any guy who hits on him.  Women do it to Rodney all the time; how hard could it be?  In comes John Sheppard, the handsome bartender with his gravity-defying hair and his charming smile.  The attraction to John is confusing to Rodney at first, because he always thought of himself as straight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta hugglewolf, and to lishel_fracrium and adafrog for all the encouragement. I never would have finished this story without you guys cheerleading.

Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 in C Minor plays on Rodney's iPod while he scrolls through line after line of code. Classical music always helps Rodney think and when he has an especially tedious problem, he likes music with bombast. After adjusting his noise-cancelling headphones (the ones he got for his birthday from his sister that he still hasn't thanked her for) Rodney types in a few keystrokes and hits enter. The program runs in debug mode and makes it about halfway through before Rodney finally spots the error.  
  
"There you are, you pain in the ass," he mutters.  
  
A hand waves in front of Rodney's face, startling him so that he slides back a foot in his chair. Radek is standing in front of his desk, blinking at him owlishly, briefcase in hand. Rodney removes his headsets in time to hear Radek ask, "Were you talking to me?"  
  
"What? No. Whatever gave you that idea?"  
  
"When you call someone a pain in the ass, you are usually speaking to me," Radek remarks.  
  
"I'm usually referring to everyone who isn't me," Rodney retorts.  
  
Radek pushes his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. "Why are you still here? I thought you had plans tonight."  
  
Rodney scrubs a hand over his face and squints at the screen. "What time is it?"  
  
"Almost eight."  
  
"Shit," Rodney swears. "I was supposed to meet Cynthia and her parents for dinner two hours ago. He scrambles for his phone. The screen shows he has two messages and missed four of Cynthia's calls. He dials nine to reach his voicemail and presses the phone to his ear.  
  
"I hope you're on your way, Rodney," Cynthia says. "I've already called twice and we've been waiting for a half hour."  
  
Rodney pushes seven to delete the message.  
  
"I'm tired of being second to your work," Cynthia begins. "I can't do this anymore. It's over."  
  
When Rodney checks the call log, he sees he received the call forty-five minutes ago. He quickly presses two to quick dial Cynthia. Radek mouths 'good luck' and leaves Rodney alone to deal with his mess. The phone never rings; it goes directly to voicemail, and Rodney knows that's not a good sign. Next, he calls Cynthia's apartment and gets her voicemail there as well. He hopes that means she isn't there, that she's waiting at his apartment for him to return home so they can work things out.  
  
Rodney calls home and after the fourth ring, the answering machine picks up. He had bought the machine at Cynthia's insistence, so he could hear her call while he was engrossed in work on the weekends. After listening to his instructions to leave a name and number, Rodney says, "Cynthia, are you there? Please pick up." He waits a minute, but she doesn't answer his call.  
  
He tries her cell phone again and leaves a message. "I'm on my way home. I'll meet you at my place so we can talk, okay?"  
  
Rodney hangs up with a frustrated sigh. "She's just angry," he tells himself. "I'll just smooth things over in the morning." After logging off his computer, he grabs his keys and laptop case, and heads out the door.  
  
***  
  
Rodney comes home to a world of black and white, eggshell walls a sharp contrast to the sleek black furniture; the only hints of color are the chrome scattered throughout the electronics and a small lilac envelope on the kitchen counter. He drops his jacket and laptop case on a barstool at the kitchen counter and tears the envelope open. A key clatters to the floor and Rodney feels the consequences of sitting too long as he strains to pick it up. The note that accompanies the key is from Cynthia and the key itself is to the front door of Rodney's apartment.  
  
 _I'm sorry things didn't work out between us. I need someone who is more attentive and you need someone who is willing to accept you for who you are. I am not that person. Be well, Rodney. – Cynthia_  
  
Rodney crumples the note up in disgust, dropping it in the garbage. He tosses the spare key into the junk drawer and looks in the fridge for something edible. The Chinese food containers smell a little funny and the pizza is stiff like cardboard. There's an old MRE stashed away in the cupboard, left over from his days as a US military contractor. Rodney always jokes that he is saving it for an emergency. Today feels like one of those days.  
  
The thing that Rodney notices first is that Cynthia took what few belongings she kept at his place. The place looks dreary without those little splashes of color. Everything he owns is meant to be functional and unobtrusive, maximizing the use of space without cluttering the apartment. The living room contains a black leather sofa, with seats that recline. Rodney spends much of his free time, when he's not programming, with his feet up, watching his big-screen television. He has all the modern conveniences: DVD player, stereo, xbox; he just doesn't feel the need to take over the shelves with knick-knacks and photo frames.  
  
The office is the most often used room in the house. It has bookshelves lined with programming books and magazines. Two computers are set up on the desk and a third one lies gutted in the corner of the room. There's a small picture of Cynthia on one of the filing cabinets, looking like an afterthought. Rodney doesn't even remember where it came from or when the photo was taken.  
  
There's a Chinese food menu stuck to the fridge; it's under a magnet that reads, "Being a good programmer is 3% talent and 97% not being distracted by the internet." The magnet was a birthday gift from his assistant. That reminds Rodney that he needs to yell at Laura tomorrow for not reminding him about his dinner appointment.  
  
Rodney orders a quart of wonton soup, an eggroll and a quart of roast pork with snow peas. It arrives thirty minutes later and he eats in the living room while watching a documentary on wormhole physics on the Discovery Channel. Afterward, he watches old Star Trek re-runs until his eyes grow heavy. He packs up his leftovers and puts them in the fridge, then trudges into his tiny bathroom to brush his teeth. That night Rodney dreams he received his second PhD in astrophysics instead of computer science and that he lived on a space station with a bunch of aliens.  
  
***  
  
When Rodney opens his eyes, he sees the alarm clock lying on the floor. He vaguely remembers hearing it go off way too early, and realizes he must have knocked it over in the ensuing battle to turn it off. Reaching over the side of the bed, Rodney replaces the clock on his bedside table and jumps out of bed when he sees it's almost nine. He's going to be late.  
  
As he rushes to get ready, Rodney supposes it wouldn't be the end of the world to be late; he is the president of the company after all. Still, he likes to set a good example for his employees, and being on time is an important skill that most people lack. Rodney takes the fastest shower possible, throws on slacks and a button down, grabs his coat and hurries out the door into miserable weather.  
  
Rain trickles down the windows and is flicked away by each pass of the windshield wipers. Rodney pulls into his designated spot, closest to the building, and gathers up his belongings, only then to realize he forgot his umbrella. He searches the floor for a suitable replacement and finds an old newspaper. Rodney climbs out of the car, laptop bag slung across his chest, newspaper protecting his head from the worst of the drizzle. The harsh February winds blow damp leaves in perfect spirals and ruffle Rodney's hair. The air is crisp, a strong winter smell that threatens snow. Rodney's nose stings from the cold, so he pulls his hand-knitted scarf – another present from his sister Jeannie – tighter around his neck.  
  
Rodney storms into the office late, intent on ignoring everyone until he's on his second cup of coffee. He makes it past the front desk and is almost to the elevator when the annoying new receptionist catches up with him.  
  
"Sir?" he says. "Can I have a moment of your time?"  
  
"What is it, Chris?" Rodney snaps.  
  
"Chuck."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's Chuck, sir. Chuck Campbell."  
  
"Whatever." Rodney waves him off. "I'm a very busy man. Just get on with it."  
  
Chris, or Chuck, or whoever he is hands Rodney a stack of messages.  
  
"What are these?"  
  
"Your calls, sir."  
  
"Yes, I see what they are," Rodney says, his pre-coffee irritation levels climbing with each exchange. "They go to my assistant, Laura Cadman."  
  
"Um." Chuck looks nervous. "She quit yesterday."  
  
"Not again," Rodney sighs. "Send her a gift basket with a note. I'll give her a raise if she comes back."  
  
"What should I write, sir?"  
  
"I don't know. Something flowery."  
  
Chuck stares at him blankly.  
  
"Do I have to do everything myself?" Rodney snaps. "Fine. Roses are red, violets are blue, come back this time and I promise not to torment you. See, was that so hard?"  
  
"Uh, no sir."  
  
"Then why are you still standing here, shoo."  
  
Rodney makes it to the elevator without further interruptions and presses the button for the second floor, where his office is located, next to the R&D department.  
  
***  
  
Rodney waits twenty minutes before picking up the phone to call Cynthia at work. He doubts she told any of her colleagues about the breakup yet, so the receptionist should let the call go through.  
  
"Cheyenne Aeronautics, how may I direct you call?"  
  
"Cynthia Smith, extension 337, please."  
  
"Who's calling?"  
  
"Dr. Rodney McKay."  
  
"I'll put you right through, sir."  
  
"Hello, Cynthia Smith speaking."  
  
"Cynthia."  
  
"Rodney, not now," she pleads. "I have a presentation due tomorrow for the director of marketing."  
  
"I just want to talk. Please, give me five minutes."  
  
"There's nothing to talk about."  
  
"Just give me a chance to make this up to you."  
  
"I'm through giving you chances, Rodney. You're a terrible boyfriend," she whispers.  
  
"What?" Rodney squawks. "How can you even say that after six months together?"  
  
"One, you forgot my birthday," she says angrily.  
  
"I've never forgotten your . . ."  
  
"Yesterday was my birthday," she interrupts.  
  
"Happy birthday," Rodney says meekly.  
  
Cynthia sighs. "This isn't a joke, Rodney."  
  
"No, you're right and I'm truly sorry, but there was this project due that I needed to finish."  
  
"You always put work before me. You can be selfish, self-centered and downright rude."  
  
"Okay, I'll concede the first two, but rude? I'm Canadian; we're never rude."  
  
"What about the time you insulted my father when he recommended an allergist to help you with your citrus allergy? Or the time you called my brother an uneducated Neanderthal when he told you that he never took physics in college because he was too busy with basketball."  
  
"You're right!" Rodney agrees. "You're right. I'm the world's worst boyfriend."  
  
"You're not a bad person, Rodney," Cynthia says softly. "You're just not the right person for me."  
  
"But Cynthia . . ."  
  
"Goodbye, Rodney."  
  
The dial tone is loud in his ear, so he slams the phone down on his desk. Even though he is frustrated and disappointed that things didn't work out, Rodney feels like a weight has been lifted. Things have been strained between then for weeks. The relationship ending is probably for the best.  
  
***  
  
"Please go away," Radek snaps. "You are scaring the employees."  
  
"Fine," Rodney huffs. "I'll go out to lunch and probably be poisoned by some incompetent waiter who puts lemon in my water. You'll have to run the company without my superior ideas."  
  
"I mean, perhaps it is time you take a vacation, no?" Radek puts a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "You are upset and need some time to sort things out."  
  
"But what about . . ?"  
  
"I can handle it."  
  
"Can I . . ?"  
  
"Yes, you may work on the Aurora project."  
  
It's scary how Rodney rarely has to finish his sentences for Radek to get what he's trying to say. If Rodney liked men, he would definitely consider Radek as a suitable partner.  
  
"Who's going to plan my vacation? Shouldn't I wait until I can convince Cadman to come back?" Rodney frets.  
  
"No," Radek says hastily. "You should take opportunity to do something for yourself. Enjoy researching and planning your own getaway."  
  
Rodney eyes Radek skeptically. "You're not planning to take over while I'm gone, are you?"  
  
Radek rolls his eyes. "Yes, because my work is just not enough; I want to be burdened with yours as well."  
  
"Are you saying you couldn't handle my projects?" Rodney teases.  
  
"Yes, yes," Radek admits. "You are the smartest man in the universe. Everyone pales in comparison. Now get out of my office."  
  
***  
  
Rodney sits at his desk and waits for his laptop to load. He opens up a browser window and stares at the curser blinking in the Google search box. After a minute, inspiration strikes and he types, _vacation, no women_. The results aren't exactly what he was looking for, so he changes the search to, _vacation, men only_. He skips over the links for _mancations_ , until he notices advertisements for men only resorts.  
  
Rodney's pretty sure these vacations spots are designed for gay men, but it's definitely the one place where he won't run into any women. It'll be easy to politely brush off any guy who hits on him. Women reject Rodney all the time; how hard can it be?  
  
The online ads all feature hard-bodied men, smiling and frolicking along the shoreline. "Perfect," he murmurs, running a hand through his thinning hair. He won't have any problems keeping the guys at bay when he won't be anywhere near the beach.  
  
Focusing mostly on the amenities, Rodney finds a hotel that has everything he wants. The Rainbow Pegasus Spa Resort, in Fort Lauderdale, boasts high-speed wireless internet, 24-hour room service, in-room massages and private beaches. Rodney chooses the Orion suite for its king-sized bed, hot tub and ocean view.  
  
There's a sale going on that prompts Rodney to _"book now"_ , so he clicks on the link and chooses his dates. He knows he has thousands of free airline miles on his credit card with little or no restrictions for last minute flights, so he decides to be spontaneous and book a room for Sunday. That gives him two days at work to get things organized and leaves Saturday for packing.  
  
***  
  
Laura's back by Friday, which means Rodney doesn't have to offer her a bonus to win her back. She's beautiful in her fitted blue suit; it brings out her eyes and contrasts nicely with her long, blonde hair. Rodney would have asked her out years ago if he didn't already know she could, and would, kick his ass. As she looks over his itinerary, she slaps a hand over her mouth, but Rodney can still see her smile curling up at the corners of her lips.  
  
"Yes, yes, I know," Rodney says. "It's the only way to avoid distractions by blondes in bikinis."  
  
Laura snorts.  
  
"Blonde _women_ in bikinis," Rodney corrects.  
  
"Yes, well, I think you should know," Laura starts.  
  
"Look," Rodney interrupts. "I'm just going to spend ten days lounging around and relaxing."  
  
"You? Relax?"  
  
"I can relax," Rodney says defensively.  
  
Laura raises an eyebrow. "And you're not bringing any work?"  
  
Rodney shifts uncomfortably. "It's not work per se," he hedges.  
  
"Rod-ney." Laura somehow manages to hit the same tone his mother did while he was disciplined as a child.  
  
"The Aurora project isn't work; it's fun."  
  
"You have a strange definition of fun, McKay," Laura notes. "Go out. Get some sun."  
  
"I burn easily."  
  
"Have a few drinks. Live a little," she suggests.  
  
"Yes, well maybe I can go out once or twice."  
  
***  
  
Rodney spends most of Saturday at work finishing last minute tasks and programs that are too important to leave with his minions. A good chunk of time is devoted to writing out orders for the employees to follow while Rodney is away. He also leaves detailed instructions for Radek – what projects are priority, which employees need the most supervision, who to call in case of an emergency.  
  
With his suitcase spread open on the bed, Rodney starts the arduous task of figuring out what to pack. He hasn't been on a real vacation in years, and never one at a resort. Usually, he spends his free time at computer shows and conferences. After going through his drawers and upending his closet, Rodney lays out three pairs of shorts, two pairs of jeans, and a pair of dress slacks – the latter in case he wants to treat himself to dinner at an upscale restaurant. An array of t-shirts fill the middle drawer of his dresser, all covered with witty slogans, such as: pro-gram-mer n. an organism that turns caffeine into software. He grabs the first five shirts from the stack and a couple of button-downs from the closet. Rodney folds everything and places it in the suitcase with his boxers and socks. He even finds an old pair of flip-flops to toss in as well.  
  
The toiletry bag Rodney finds under the sink is still mostly packed from his last business trip, so he packs a fresh toothbrush and replaces the empty travel shampoo before adding it to his carry-on suitcase. With the packing complete, Rodney checks his itinerary one last time, making sure everything is set for his six-thirty flight. There's a Twilight Zone marathon on the Sy-Fy channel, so he watches it while polishing off the leftover wonton soup and roast pork.  
  
By ten Rodney calls it a night, brushing his teeth and heading to bed. His jacket is draped over his suitcase by the front door and his plane ticket is in the front pocket of his laptop case. The alarm is set for three, giving Rodney enough time to shower before the limo arrives to drive him to the airport. He falls asleep quickly and dreams of leaning over the railing of his balcony to see the spectacular ocean view.  
  
***  
  
Rodney paces the span of three parking spaces as he waits for the limo to pick him up. The driver arrives ten minutes late, throwing Rodney's whole schedule off and giving him heart palpitations while the driver tries to make the time up by speeding through the streets of Denver. They make it to the airport on time, but it doesn't matter since Rodney already received a text on his iphone that his flight was delayed due to weather.  
  
After checking in, Rodney finds a seat next to an outlet, so he can try to get some last minute emails out to clients and employees. A family of six sits across from him, taking up an entire row with their baggage and strollers. The parents are preoccupied with getting their infants settled in and don't seem to notice that their older two have gravitated over to Rodney. Rodney notices; he can feel their beady little eyes staring at him.  
  
"What?" he snaps.  
  
"Whatcha doin'?" the little girl asks as she twists a pigtail around her finger.  
  
"Working," Rodney replies curtly. "Now if you don't mind . . ."  
  
"Whatcha workin' on?" the little boy interrupts, sliding into the seat to the left of Rodney and peering over Rodney's forearm to view the screen.  
  
"A device for disposing of children who ask too many questions," Rodney snaps. He tries to angle the laptop away from the boy, but finds himself surrounded, the little girl sitting on his right.  
  
"Got any candy?" she whines.  
  
"What? No! Stay out of my bag," Rodney tells her. "Hey, keep your hands away. This is delicate equipment," he yelps as the boy pokes at his keyboard.  
  
"Michael! Jennifer!"  
  
Rodney is saved when the children's mother finally realizes they're missing. They immediately snap to attention, as their mother approaches. "What did I tell you about talking to strangers?" she asks. "Now let's leave the nice man alone," she continues, not waiting for an answer.  
  
The pair wave to Rodney and the mother shoots him an apologetic smile. Rodney clutches his laptop to his chest and prays for his plane to arrive to whisk him away to peace and quiet.  
  
As luck would have it, the family has seats directly in front of Rodney and the children's constant chatter – both at him and each other – interfere with Rodney's ability to concentrate. On top of that, the weather isn't very hospitable to flying, causing major turbulence along the way.  
  
After a particularly bumpy section, Rodney rings the fight attendant. "Can I help you, sir?"  
  
"Is this normal?" Rodney asks. "I fly a great deal and I don't remember being bounced around this much."  
  
"Don't worry, sir. We'll be out of the turbulence soon. Can I get you anything? Some more peanuts, perhaps?" the stewardess offers.  
  
"I'm actually a little tired. Could I get a pillow and blanket?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. We stopped carrying those items ever since the swine flu epidemic."  
  
Rodney frowns. "I'll have a coffee. Milk, two sugars."  
  
"You got it," she replies way too cheerfully.  
  
***  
  
The rest of the flight is uneventful and Rodney arrives in Florida in one piece. There's a car waiting to pick him up, courtesy of the hotel, and it takes about fifteen minutes to reach his destination. The air is warm and breezy, and he can smell the salt from the ocean as soon as he arrives at his hotel. The lobby is filled with the scent of vanilla and Rodney hears soft music filtering through the speakers overhead.  
  
"You must be Dr. McKay," the concierge says as Rodney approaches the front desk.  
  
Rodney smiles. "Yes, that's me."  
  
"Welcome to the Rainbow Pegasus Spa Resort. My name is Mark. I'll be happy to be of service."  
  
Rodney hands the concierge his paperwork and credit card. "I need to check in."  
  
"I can help you with that," Mark says typing Rodney's information into the computer. "Good news, Dr. McKay. We have a free upgrade available for one of our private cabins on the beach. Would you be interested in staying in a cabin?"  
  
"What's the difference?" Rodney asks.  
  
"Well, for one, it's about ten steps from the Pegasus Café, which has the best burgers this side of Fort Lauderdale. Also, cabin occupants get priority for massage appointments and food delivery."  
  
"And it won't cost extra?"  
  
"Not for you, sugar," Mark says with a wink.  
  
"Yes, well, um, thank you," Rodney stammers. "That would be great."  
  
***  
  
The upgrade is completely worth feeling flustered and isn't too far from the main part of the hotel complex. Upon opening the door, Rodney feels like Dorothy, like he's been living in a black and white movie that has finally been colorized. It looks more like a beach cottage than the cabin that Rodney envisioned, awash in stark whites and soft blues. The walls are painted the color of the sky, relaxing and inviting, while the trim is a bright white. The bellhop drops off Rodney's bag by the door and Rodney hands him some cash before he leaves Rodney alone in the peace and quiet of paradise.  
  
The first thing Rodney does is check out the bathroom. Between the layover and the extra coffee, he's had to pee since the plane landed. The room is much larger than Rodney's bathroom at home. Warm colors fill the space; spicy reds and oranges blanket the walls and flow through the veins of the marble countertops. Sand-color tiles cover the multi-head shower, which Rodney guesses can fit six people easily. The hot tub is a similar sandy shade and looks big enough for two full-grown adults to stretch out comfortably. The walls are adorned with paintings of sea life – seashells and sand dollars, starfish and seahorses. There is a hook off the back of the door with a fluffy, white robe; matching slippers are stuffed in the left pocket. Bath amenities line the counter and Rodney opens a fancy, vanilla-scented soap to wash his hands after using the facilities.  
  
After finishing up in the bathroom, Rodney starts to explore the cabin, impressed with the maple hardwood floors throughout the living room and kitchenette. Rodney looks up to see a large ceiling fan with blades shaped like palm tree leaves and finds the remotes for the fan and air conditioning lying on table in the dining area.  
  
The kitchenette is almost as big as the galley kitchen in Radek's condominium, with a full-sized fridge, microwave, stove and even a dishwasher. The fridge in completely stocked with beer, soda, water and juice – cranberry and apple, no citrus anywhere to be seen. There are also a nice selection of flavored creamers and Kona coffee beans. The coffee machine holds enough water for a full pot of coffee, but doles it out by the cup. The cupboards are filled with cookies and crackers, and there's a room service menu on the counter.  
  
The living room has a sitting area with a sofa and table. There are several remotes on the table that belong to a collection of electronics: a large flat-screen HDTV, an HD cable box, a DVD player, and a stereo. There's a wooden desk in the corner with a leather chair where Rodney places his laptop bag. Large, double French doors are framed by billowy, white curtains and lead out to a private, wrap-around deck with a view of the beach and ocean. The teak outdoor furniture consists of two chaise lounges with over-sized cushions and a small table with two chairs.  
  
Leaving his shoes and jacket in the hall closet, Rodney brings his suitcase into the bedroom, feeling the plush, sand-colored carpet under his feet. He sits down on the king-sized bed, amazed by how comfortable it feels. The hotel's website had bragged about the 500-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and goose down pillows, but they're even more remarkable when he's relaxing into their softness. This room also has a spectacular, unobstructed view of the powdery white sand and crystal blue water. Rodney opens the door that leads to the porch and listens to the waves break on the shore. Deciding the first order of business is to take a nap, he docks his ipod in the alarm clock, puts on some classical music and drifts off to sleep.  
  
***  
  
Rodney wakes up hungry. He finds an extra room service menu in the top drawer of his bedside table and picks up the phone.  
  
"Hello, Dr. McKay, how can I help you?"  
  
Rodney's thrown off for a moment by the use of his name, but is back on track when his stomach growls. "Um, yes, I'd like the porterhouse, well-done, please. And a side of mashed potatoes."  
  
"Anything else, sir?"  
  
"Hmm, yes, a slice of the death by chocolate cake, please."  
  
"Very good, sir. It'll be about fifteen minutes."  
  
"Just remember, no citrus. I'm deathly allergic."  
  
"Yes, Dr. McKay. The kitchen staff has been made aware. I can assure you there will be no citrus in your meal."  
  
"Oh," Rodney says, impressed by their thoroughness. "It's good to know that the staff is on top of things."  
  
"I'll send someone up shortly. Have a good evening."  
  
"You too," Rodney replies and hangs up the phone.  
  
Dinner is everything Rodney hoped it would be; the steak is cooked to perfection and the mashed potatoes are creamy. The chocolate cake is the most amazing thing Rodney's ever eaten and he moans around each bite of bliss. He spends the rest of the evening checking his email and reading articles on the internet. It's only nine when he calls it a night, but he wants to get up early in the morning to check out the rest of the resort and maybe get a massage.  
  
***  
  
Breakfast arrives around eight. Rodney is already showered, dressed and on his third cup of coffee. He's able to book an hour-long massage for eleven and spend the time in between working on his project. The Aurora project is a flight simulation game with some of the most realistic physics the gaming industry has even seen – at least Rodney thinks so. He's been trying to get it to the point of being worth adding some employees to his team to help, but something is off with his math. For now, he's just tinkering, but when it becomes more solid, Rodney will contact some of his former colleagues in the military to see if they're interested.  
  
After the massage, Rodney feels like jelly with all the kinks in his back worked out. He puts his laptop into the digital safe in the bedroom closet, and decides to wander to the café for lunch. It's a short walk across the private beach to the small café, but Rodney still mutters the whole way about sand in his shoes.  
  
A beautiful, landscaped garden is visible from where Rodney waits to speak with the restaurant's host. He's told there's a fifteen-minute wait to be seated, but if he eats at the bar he can order right away. Rodney's stomach decides for him and he takes the first available seat at The Sand Bar, a large circular bar on the beach that looks like a tiki hut, complete with thatched roof.  
  
After a minute, a tall, dark-haired bartender, who's probably never seen a comb in his life, steps over to Rodney and asks, "What can I get for you?"  
  
Rodney puts down his menu. "Let me have the portabella burger, medium-well, with a side of onion rings."  
  
"Anything to drink? My specialty is a Flaming Pink Flamingo," the bartender says with a wink.  
  
"I'll bet it is," Rodney retorts. The bartender ducks his head and a faint blush creeps up from his cheeks to the tips of his elf-like ears. Rodney realizes that his reply might have sounded like flirting. He wonders how often the bartender gets laid offering that drink. Clearing his throat, Rodney pulls his gaze away from the hair peaking up from the open button on the bartender's shirt and asks, "What's in it?"  
  
"Cranberry juice, orange juice, rum, tequila and triple sec."  
  
Rodney sighs. "I guess I'll stick with water," he says, "unless you can make something that tastes good and isn't going to kill me?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Citrus allergy," Rodney explains. "And most tropical drinks contain some form of citrus. Or even if they don't, the previous drink made in the half-assed rinsed blender probably left traces of it."  
  
The bartender folds his arms over his chest. "You must be Dr. McKay. Mark already warned me about you."  
  
"Warned?"  
  
"Your allergy," the bartender specifies. "I have a separate blender glass set aside, just for you."  
  
"Oh. Do all the guests get treated this nice?"  
  
"We try to accommodate anyone with special needs," the bartender says with a mischievous smirk.  
  
"Ha-ha funny," Rodney replies. "So, you know who I am, what do I call you?"  
  
The obnoxious smirk returns as the bartender points to his nametag.  
  
"John," Rodney reads. "Well, I'd say it's nice to meet you, but so far you haven't impressed me."  
  
"You seem like a hard man to impress."  
  
"Yes, well, I do know everything about everything," Rodney boasts.  
  
"I don't know," John ponders. "You seem to have limited knowledge of alcoholic beverages. There are plenty of drinks that taste amazing and are completely citrus free."  
  
"I'll be the judge of that," Rodney says. "Hit me with your best shot."  
  
"Sure thing, Pat Benetar," John teases. "How about a Bikini Martini? It's real simple – coconut rum, vodka, pineapple juice and grenadine."  
  
Rodney watches in fascination as John adds all of the ingredients into the shaker, mixes them up and then pours the frothy mixture into a martini glass. John garnishes the drink with a pineapple wedge and places the glass in front of Rodney. Rodney sniffs the concoction, takes a tentative sip and waits a minute. When he doesn't die, he takes another sip and admits, "Hey, this is pretty good."  
  
"Told ya," John says smugly.  
  
"Yeah, but you can't keep this up, I'm sure. Eventually, you'll run out of drink ideas."  
  
John arches an eyebrow. "Is that right?"  
  
"I bet you couldn't come up with citrus-free drinks that I like for the rest of the week. I'm very picky."  
  
"I'll take that bet," John says. "What do I get if I win?"  
  
"The satisfaction of knowing you bested the great Rodney McKay."  
  
"That's a lame prize," John replies.  
  
"Fine," Rodney huffs. "I'll take you out to dinner."  
  
John looks Rodney up and down, and another of his annoying smirks creeps across his face. "You're on," he agrees. "And if I lose, I'll take you to dinner."  
  
Rodney waves a hand absently. "Yes, yes. Just so you know, I am not a cheap date."  
  
***  
  
Rodney's spends the next hour talking and joking with John in between him helping other customers. Rodney's on his third martini and his second burger when he notices two naked men holding hands while walking toward the beach. He's mid-sip when he begins choking.  
  
John's warm hand lands firm on Rodney's back, pounding until Rodney can breathe again. "You okay there, buddy?"  
  
Rodney turns around in his seat to stare through watery eyes. "Oh my god, where are their clothes?" he squeaks.  
  
John bursts out laughing. "It's a clothing optional beach."  
  
"Don't you think they should have mentioned that on the website?" Rodney carries on.  
  
Sheppard continues to laugh. "It _is_ on the website, Rodney."  
  
Rodney frowns. "I guess I got distracted by the twenty-four hour room service."  
  
***  
  
The next day Rodney shows up at the bar around noon for lunch and orders a chicken panini with mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes. As promised, John serves it with another citrus-free drink. The drink is a light yellow hue with a swirl of red throughout. It comes in a tall, stemmed glass that curves inward at the bottom and is garnished with a wedge of pineapple and a little paper umbrella. Rodney takes a sip and notes the taste of pineapple, coconut and banana. On his second sip, he tastes strawberry.  
  
"This is really good. What's it called?"  
  
John smirks. "It's a Lava Flow."  
  
"Oh, I get it," Rodney says. "The strawberry swirl is the lava."  
  
"Nothing gets past you, McKay."  
  
"Ha-ha. You're a regular comedian."  
  
"I try."  
  
***  
  
The third day Rodney sleeps in late and spends the afternoon working on the Aurora project. By the time he leaves the cabin, it's dinner time. As he takes his usual seat at the bar, Rodney grabs a menu and can't find anything that piques his interest. He's feeling picky and frustrated from not making any progress. John slides a drink across the water-slick counter and it stops directly in front of Rodney.  
  
It goes down warm and smooth, tasting like coffee and it instantly perks Rodney up as he finishes it in three gulps. "That was amazing. It was exactly what I needed."  
  
"It was a Calypso Coffee. You looked like you could use it."  
  
"Yeah, well I've had a long day getting nothing accomplished for the project I'm working on."  
  
"What kind of work do you do?"  
  
"I own a mid-sized software company, Atlantis Development Corp. I almost named it Atlantean Software Solutions, but you can see the problem with that."  
  
"Yeah," John chuckles. He rubs the back of his neck, and looks at the bar instead of Rodney. "So, um, I get off work in an hour. If you don't have any plans, we could hang at my place, maybe order a pizza and play some xbox."  
  
Rodney gratefully accepts the second drink John places in front of him and smiles. "Sure," he says and takes a big sip. So far, John has been pretty entertaining; he's smart, funny and seems to genuinely like Rodney. He'd probably be really fun to hang out with. It isn't like Rodney has anything else planned and he isn't making any progress on his project, so it's worth a shot.  
  
***  
  
John lives in a modest house on the beach that, according to John, is within walking distance of the hotel. The weather is nice, so Rodney doesn't mind as much what turns out to be a two-mile walk, although he would have preferred driving. They're in a lively discussion about who was the coolest batman when they arrive.  
  
"Still, nobody beats Adam West," John argues as they head up the paver walkway onto a creaky wooden porch. There's a white, newer-looking swing strung up a few feet past the door and the yard is landscaped, unsurprisingly, with palm trees. As he slides his key into the lock and opens the front door, John says, almost apologetically, "Been over year since my grandfather died and left me the place. I haven't really gotten around to fixing it up."  
  
Rodney shrugs, follows John inside and is immediately immersed in a rainbow of colors. The structure itself is amazing, open and airy, with high vaulted ceilings, but it's painted those exaggerated hues that older Floridians seem to think look good. Two of the walls in the living area are bright red with their opposing walls an even brighter orange. As John gives Rodney the grand tour, it is apparent that rainbows were definitely the theme of the decorator. Each room is painted a different color, each seeming brighter than the last. The canary-yellow kitchen is brighter than the afternoon sun, at odds with the obviously new, sleek, black appliances. The guest room is lavender, or maybe lilac, and looks mostly unused. John's bedroom boasts a view of the ocean, a king-sized bed and a color that John describes as sea-foam green. The bathroom is less obtrusive, painted in muted blues and whites much like Rodney's hotel suite.  
  
"I've lived here almost a year and can't bring myself to change much," John admits. "It kinda grows on ya."  
  
"Yeah, like a fungus," Rodney mumbles.  
  
As they walk back to the living room, John takes a detour to the kitchen to grab the pizza delivery menu. "Any toppings?"  
  
"Pepperoni?"  
  
"And mushrooms?"  
  
"Perfect," Rodney agrees.  
  
John calls the pizza place while Rodney inspects John's DVD collection. It's mostly old science fiction and fantasy movies, which Rodney definitely approves of. Out of the corner of his eye, Rodney notices the wood-carved chess set on the coffee table. He picks up a penguin shaped piece to study what he thinks is a pawn, when John comes up behind him.  
  
"You like to play?"  
  
"What?" Rodney whirls around, startled, and fumbles, almost dropping the penguin on the floor.  
  
John furrows his eyebrows, giving Rodney a curious look. "You were checking out my chess set. I thought maybe you played."  
  
"I've been known to play a few games now and then," Rodney says.  
  
"Cool."  
  
John breaks out the xbox controllers and then settles next to Rodney on the couch. They play Lego Star Wars II until the doorbell rings, and Rodney's too busy stuffing his face to care that John kicked his ass.  
  
"So, you seem reasonably intelligent," Rodney points out while reaching for his third slice of pizza. "What are you doing wasting your time bartending?"  
  
John sighs. "Well, there aren't too many options after being forced into retirement from the military."  
  
"You were in the military?"  
  
"Yup, I was an air force major before I was outed," John explains.  
  
"Wait, don't you have to have a college degree to be an officer?"  
  
"I have a bachelor's in aeronautical engineering from Stanford."  
  
"Well, Stanford is no MIT," Rodney says, "but it's still pretty impressive."  
  
"Hey," John protests. "Stanford was ranked fifth this year in U.S. News and World Report's list of best colleges. MIT was only seventh."  
  
"Hmm, yes. Well, you should still be able to get a job in your field, even in this crappy economy."  
  
"Haven't tried."  
  
"What? Why not?"  
  
John shrugs. "I didn't want to go into the stuffy corporate world after twenty years of service."  
  
"I guess that makes sense."  
  
"Also, my ex-wife's a lawyer in D.C. She made sure they didn't screw me out of my pension."  
  
"You were married?"  
  
"Yeah, I tried the whole white picket fence deal and it wasn't for me."  
  
"Huh."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't strike me as a white picket fence kinda guy."  
  
John rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Rodney, because _that's_ why things didn't work out."  
  
"Right, sorry."  
  
"Forget about it. Do you want another beer?"  
  
After dinner, they finish their beers out on the screened-in back porch while gazing up at the stars. "Thanks for coming over," John says.  
  
"Thanks for inviting me. This was actually kinda nice."  
  
"Gee, don't sound so surprised."  
  
The truth is, Rodney is surprised. He knows that he's generally terrible with people, yet John genuinely seems to like him. Rodney really enjoys spending time with John, too, and feels more relaxed than he has in ages.  
  
***  
  
Hanging out with John becomes a regular thing. Every day Rodney stops by the bar to try a different drink. So far, the frozen Mudslide and the Godiva Chocolate Martini are his favorite, even if he garnered a little too much attention from the other patrons as he moaned around each sip. They spend their evenings together eating take-out, watching old movies and playing video games, and Rodney's having so much fun that he almost forgets about their bet.  
  
"Are you ready to concede that I can make enough non-citrus drinks to satisfy even someone as picky as you?" John asks two days before Rodney's due to fly home.  
  
"I'm not that picky," Rodney tries to argue and John rolls his eyes.  
  
Rodney sighs dramatically. "I guess you were right."  
  
John's smile lights up his eyes. "So, where are you taking me for dinner tonight?"  
  
"You won, you pick."  
  
"Well, there's this really awesome burger joint that makes the best milkshakes," John offers.  
  
"Seriously, you don't have to be cheap. I'll take you anywhere you want."  
  
"Rodney, I'm not very high maintenance, ya know."  
  
"Okay, burgers it is."  
  
***  
  
Rodney goes back to his room to change before he picks John up at the house for dinner. He tries on a few different outfits before choosing a blue button-down and khakis. The color of the shirt brings out his eyes. Rodney tries not to worry about why he's so concerned about his appearance, and instead focuses on whether he should put on after-shave.  
  
The food is as delicious as John described and the conversation runs from what's the best chocolate bar to a lively debate on which is better, star wars or star trek. It feels almost the same as most of the nights they've spent together the past week, but Rodney can feel the slight differences in the way John's acting toward him. His chair is closer and his voice is pitched lower.  
  
Stray thoughts keep popping into Rodney's head while they eat, like if John tastes as good as he smells. He dismisses them, blaming them on the aroma of the chocolate cake he has for dessert. It must be acting like an aphrodisiac.  
  
After dinner, they go back to John's house to watch a movie. Rodney still can't quite figure out how they end up watching "Return of the Jedi" in the dark on John's small sofa. John's acting nervous; he's more fidgety than usual, and he keeps inching closer to Rodney.  
  
Rodney finishes the last of the popcorn and John takes the bowl, placing it out of the way on the side table. He stretches out his arm, resting it along the back cushion for a bit until it slowly creeps down around Rodney's shoulders. Rodney doesn't think anything of it at first and then John's hand curls around the curve of Rodney's bicep.  
  
Rodney's whole body tenses; this isn't how he expected the night to go. He's pretty sure he's straight, although it hasn't escaped his attention how attractive John is. Instead of moving John's arm and explaining the confusion, Rodney just concentrates on breathing slowly, even as his heart stutters in his chest. He doesn't protest when John leans over to kiss him.  
  
 _He's interrupting the best part of the movie_ , Rodney thinks, desperately trying not to let the insane sentence slip out of his mouth. _Oh my god, I'm kissing a man_. His brain takes a moment to catch up, but his lips part reflexively and he lets John explore him with open-mouthed kisses, deep and slow and toe-curlingly good.  
  
Rodney tentatively kisses back. John tastes warm and spicy, with a hint of chocolate from dessert, and Rodney can't seem to stop himself from wanting more. Cupping a hand around John's chin, Rodney takes control of the kiss, and tries to get even closer to John. Rodney's not thinking anymore, his brain overloaded with the smell and taste of John, the feeling of warm skin under his fingertips. Rodney slides his tongue between John's lips and John sucks on Rodney's tongue.  
  
"Rodney," John moans, breaking the kiss to nip along Rodney's jaw. "Wanna take this to the bedroom?" He lays a hand on Rodney's knee and slides it up, thumb rubbing along the inseam of Rodney's pants.  
  
"Oh, um."  
  
John cups Rodney's half-hard cock, hot breath tickling Rodney's neck as he whispers, "There are so many things I want to do to you."  
  
"Things?"  
  
"Uh-huh." John rubs his palm up and down Rodney's length until he's fully hard, and that's just not playing fair.  
  
"What kind of things?"  
  
"I wanna suck you. Please, can I suck you?"  
  
The sheer want in John's voice breaks any resolve Rodney thought he had and cures him of his perceived heterosexuality, at least for the moment. "God, yes, please," he begs.  
  
"Come to bed with me," John murmurs, taking Rodney by the hand.  
  
Rodney follows; how could he not with John so eager and willing to pleasure him? They end up lip-locked on the way and stumble into the darkness of the bedroom. It's easier like this, no light to remind Rodney that those soft, pouty lips sliding down his cock belong to a man. When his eyes adjust to the darkness, he closes them so he can pretend a little longer. "Yes, like that," Rodney groans.  
  
The wet heat of John's mouth as he swallows Rodney down feels amazing. John's tongue teases his slit, the ridge just under the crown, and the thick vein along the shaft, all without breaking suction. It feels exquisite and Rodney never wants it to stop, except the pleasure keeps building, pressure mounting until he can barely contain it. Rodney threads his fingers through the spikes of John's hair and tugs, trying to warn him. John goes down even further and Rodney explodes, coming in John's mouth in one of the best orgasms he can remember.  
  
After getting his wits about him, Rodney fumbles his way through reciprocating with a handjob. John doesn't seem to mind, because he's arching into Rodney's fist, head thrown back to expose the long lines of his throat. In that moment, John is all Rodney can focus on, masculine and beautiful, and as John comes, Rodney can no longer pretend. Instead, he does the next best thing and lets sleep claim him.  
  
***  
  
Light is just starting to creep over the horizon when Rodney wakes up in an unfamiliar bed. He knows he's not in his hotel room. When he sees a silhouette with bristly hair lying next to his, he remembers the night before – getting off with John's mouth sucking him dry, the feel of John, hot and hard in his hand – and his chest starts pounding. Rodney can't stay another minute; he needs to go somewhere to think about what happened between them and what it all means.  
  
As he slides out of bed, Rodney realizes with horror that he's mostly naked. He vaguely remembers waking up overheated and stripping down to his boxers. He finds his khakis lying next to the bed and his shirt and socks under it. John turns over in his sleep and Rodney freezes, not moving a muscle. When it doesn't look like John is awake, Rodney quickly gets dressed and heads into the living room to find his shoes and keys. Quickly and quietly, Rodney gathers his belongings and sneaks out the front door.  
  
***  
  
It's almost eight, and the sun is shining brightly through Rodney's open window when his cell phone rings. He knows it's John without even looking. On their third day hanging out they finally exchanged phone numbers and John had asked if he could pick his own ringtone; Rodney couldn't resist the puppy-dog eyes.  
  
Johnny Cash sings "Ring of Fire" while Rodney thinks about answering. He can barely wait the minute it takes for his phone to beep, informing him he has a voicemail. With trembling hands, Rodney dials his phone and listens to the message.  
  
"Hey, Rodney. I know you were stressed about packing and all," John says, sounding more amused than annoyed, "but your flight leaves tomorrow. You could have stayed for breakfast." There's a pause before he adds, "I'm off today. Gimme a call and we can meet up for lunch or something. Talk to you later."  
  
Rodney thinks about calling John back immediately. He considers getting back into his car, picking up something for breakfast and just showing up on John's doorstep. Thinking about John reminds Rodney that he enjoyed his vacation more because of the time they spent together. He flashes back to the scrape of stubble against his thigh and shivers.  
  
Rodney has never been interested in men, aside from a drunken encounter with a lab partner in college. Maybe he's just lonely and desperate after his breakup with Cynthia. Once the idea pops into Rodney's head, he feels guilty for using John that way, when he genuinely likes him. Between the indecision and guilt swirling around in his mind, Rodney's stomach starts to churn and he puts his phone on the nightstand. He curls up on the bed, next to his open suitcase, and naps for a few hours.  
  
By three in the afternoon, Rodney is feeling refreshed enough to finish packing. He's also starving, so first he orders a turkey club sandwich and a pot of coffee from room service. As he hangs up, his cell phone buzzes with a message from John; two words – "U ok?"  
  
Flopping back on the bed, his chest pounding, Rodney gathers up the courage to answer. "No," he types.  
  
Less than a minute later, John replies, "Want company?"  
  
Rodney wants to reply, "Yes!" He wants to call John and beg, "Please," but his fingers betray him and type, "No" once again. Then Rodney shuts off his cell phone and packs until his lunch arrives. It doesn't taste as good as he expected it to, but he finishes it anyway.  
  
***  
  
For the next eighteen hours, Rodney thinks about calling John back. He thinks about it when the car service picks him up, on the trip to the airport and while he's waiting to board; he thinks about it up until he's on the plane and the flight attendant asks everyone to shut off their phones. Back in Colorado, it seems pointless to dwell on.  
  
While he's waiting to be picked up from the airport, Rodney checks in with Radek. Nothing was broken in his absence, so he has the driver take him home instead of the office. His apartment seems even bleaker when compared to John's house, or even the hotel room. Rodney misses their vibrancy; he misses John's even more.  
  
Dinner is a carton of Chinese takeout in front of the TV. "Wrath of Khan" is playing on Sy-Fy, but it's not as much fun to watch without John's sarcastic commentary. He falls asleep halfway through and wakes up in the middle of the night, drooling on the armrest of the couch. Rodney shuffles into the bedroom, crawls under the covers and dreams of warm, tan skin.  
  
***  
  
Thoughts of the weight of John's arm slung around his waist drift away as Rodney wakes up. He misses John's smell, his dorky jokes and his even dorkier laugh. Rodney should feel well rested from his vacation in Florida. Instead, he's more emotionally drained than when he arrived, and for the first time he can remember, he's not looking forward to going to work.  
  
Rodney showers and shaves, ignoring the erection he gets while thinking about John sucking him off, wondering what John's cock would feel like in Rodney's mouth, what John's come would taste like. He tries not to get preoccupied thinking about John during his commute, but calculating Pi out as many digits as he can doesn't serve as a distraction and he it isn't any fun playing Prime, Not Prime by himself.  
  
***  
  
Laura meets him in his office with bagels, fresh coffee and a stack of messages from various clients. "How was your trip?" she asks, bright-eyed and chipper.  
  
Rodney braces himself for the third degree with a sip of coffee. "Fine," he mutters.  
  
"You're still pale," she notes. "Did you leave your room at all?"  
  
"Yes," Rodney snaps. "I was out and about frolicking amongst the Floridians."  
  
"You are the only person I know who vacations in Florida and manages to avoid getting a tan."  
  
"There is this product called sunscreen."  
  
"What did you use, SPF 100?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I did."  
  
Laura sighs and smiles fondly. "Only you, Rodney."  
  
***  
  
Uninvited, Radek sits in the seat across from Rodney's desk. "Why are you moping?" he asks.  
  
"I'm not moping," Rodney replies. "Why do you think I'm moping?"  
  
"There is picture of you under moping in dictionary."  
  
"Ha-ha. You're a riot, Radek."  
  
"No, really," Radek says. "You are frowning more than usual and you have not yelled at me once since you have been back. Are you sick?"  
  
"No, I'm not sick. Some of us just have actual work to do."  
  
"Rodney, you are playing mine sweeper," Radek points out.  
  
"Yes, well."  
  
"Okay, spill."  
  
"I met someone while I was on vacation."  
  
"Ahh, so you are pining, not moping," Radek says with a smirk. "What is her name?"  
  
"I am not pining," Rodney lies. "And his name is John."  
  
"His?"  
  
Rodney crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. "Is that a problem?"  
  
"No, Rodney, it is not a problem. Is just unexpected."  
  
"You're telling me," Rodney mutters.  
  
"So, what is _your_ problem?" Radek asks.  
  
Rodney sighs. "I snuck out after spending the night."  
  
The creases in Radek's forehead deepen as he frowns. "Rodney," he says. "That is terrible."  
  
"Yes, I know!" Rodney agrees. "I just don't know what to do about it, now that I'm home."  
  
"Have you tried calling?"  
  
"No," Rodney admits. "But I did answer a few of his texts before I left."  
  
"Did you apologize?"  
  
"No."  
  
Radek rolls his eyes. "Well, a lot of good that does, Rodney." He picks the phone up off the desk and hands it to Rodney. "You need to call him."  
  
"What? Now?"  
  
"As much as I enjoy the quiet, I prefer you back to normal," Radek says with a sympathetic smile. He stands as Rodney dials and finally leaves the office when Rodney makes shooing motions.  
  
The phone rings four times and then voicemail picks up. "You've reached John. Leave a message and I'll get back to ya."  
  
"Um, hi, John. This is Rodney, Rodney McKay. Um, I just wanted to apologize for um, leaving so abruptly the other morning. Please call me back and we can talk or something." He hangs up feeling like an idiot for both the phone call and the reason for the call, but he's glad he made it.  
  
***  
  
The weekend passes with no return phone call from John. Rodney tries calling again and leaves a second voicemail. He even texts John twice, but still no answer. The situation seems hopeless. He's ruined any chance of seeing John again.  
  
By Monday morning, Rodney is desperate to fix things. Over the weekend, he has realized that his orientation – gay or straight – doesn't matter. He has feelings for John and it's worth taking a chance to see where things go. The problem is how to explain this to John if he won't return Rodney's calls.  
  
While listening to some Mozart and feeling sorry for himself, Rodney's brilliant mind comes up with the perfect idea. If he can't get in touch with John by phone, he'll just have to visit John in person. Flipping open his laptop, Rodney books the first available flight and then calls Radek.  
  
"It is a bit early to be calling, Rodney," Radek mumbles when he answers the phone.  
  
"Good morning to you too, Radek," Rodney teases. "And it's almost six. Shouldn't you be getting ready for another exciting day at Atlantis?"  
  
"You are an evil boss, Rodney."  
  
"Yes, yes. I'm just calling to say I won't be coming in today, or tomorrow either. In fact, I'm not actually sure when I'll be back in. A few days, maybe a week?"  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"I'm flying back to Florida to find John and make him listen to me."  
  
"Are you sure, Rodney? Maybe this is not . . ."  
  
"I've made up my mind," Rodney interrupts. "My plane leaves around noon, so I have to get packed."  
  
"Good luck, Rodney."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
***  
  
Once Rodney gets off the plane, he panics. He hasn't formulated much of a plan beyond getting to Florida. He has no transportation and no place to stay. Hailing a cab, Rodney gives the address for The Rainbow Pegasus Spa Resort and hopes that John is working today. Since he stayed here only last week, Mark the concierge remembers him immediately and offers him his previous room.  
  
"I'm here to see John. Is he working today?"  
  
Mark nods.  
  
"I'm not sure if I'll be staying at the hotel tonight, but can you hold my bags at the front desk while I talk to him."  
  
"Sure thing, sugar," Mark says with a wink.  
  
Rodney makes his way down to the beach and over to The Sand Bar. John is busy helping another customer and doesn't notice Rodney at first. Sitting in his usual seat, Rodney waits for John to finish.  
  
"What can I get for you?" John asks without looking up.  
  
"I have it on good authority that you can provide me with a citrus-free beverage experience," Rodney says with a smirk.  
  
John sighs and his shoulders slump, but he doesn't look up. "Rodney."  
  
Rodney's smile falters. "I know what I did was wrong," he says quickly. "And I want to make it up to you. Please just hear me out?"  
  
"Not here," John says. "Let me see if I can get someone to cover for me."  
  
Fifteen tense minutes and two iced teas later, John has the rest of the day off. They walk along the beach in silence until they find a secluded spot under the shade of a giant palm tree.  
  
John crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Rodney. "Why did you come back?"  
  
"I wanted to apologize and you wouldn't take my calls."  
  
"You left without saying goodbye and you didn't return _my_ calls," John counters.  
  
"I know," Rodney agrees. "And it was a terrible thing to do."  
  
John nods. "Yes, it was."  
  
"And I'm sorry. I was a little freaked out," Rodney confesses. "That was my first time with a guy. I thought I was straight before I met you. I was so confused that I panicked."  
  
"Wait, what? You're straight?" John throws his hands up in the air and takes a step back. "Oh, that's just great."  
  
"I'm sorry," Rodney says again. "I didn't mean to mislead you."  
  
"You were staying at a gay resort and you took me out to dinner."  
  
"I know and I can see how that can be misconstrued . . ."  
  
"You didn't say no when I kissed you," John snaps. "I would have stopped if you said no."  
  
"I know, I just . . . I was having such a good time with you. I like being with you. I like _you_. And when you kissed me, I don't know; it just felt right."  
  
"So, now what?" John asks, hands on his hips, still looking angry.  
  
"Well," Rodney ventures, "I'd like to see where this goes."  
  
"Long distance relationships never work, Rodney."  
  
"I was hoping you'd come back to Colorado with me."  
  
"What?" John looks at Rodney like he's crazy.  
  
"Well, the only way to see if I can do this is to have a real relationship with you. Don't you agree?"  
  
"No," John growls and stalks forward angrily to poke Rodney in the chest with one finger. "I've only known you for about two weeks. You can't seriously ask me to give up everything to be your little _experiment_ ," he says disdainfully. "I'm sorry but I won't do that."  
  
"That's not what I meant," Rodney tries, but John pushes past him in the direction of his house. "John, please wait."  
  
"No," John yells back over his shoulder. "It's over Rodney."  
  
"Shit," Rodney mutters and sinks down to sit in the sand, leaning against the tree for support.  
  
***  
  
After heading back to the hotel, Rodney books one night there and a return trip to Colorado. He doesn't want to give up, but John has made it clear that he wants nothing to do with Rodney. Rodney screwed up again and there is no way to repair the damage. John refused to come to Colorado with him.  
  
However, Rodney doesn't want to give up; he wants to make the relationship work. He thinks for hours on how to make things right and finally comes up with the perfect idea. He cancels his flight back and calls Radek to set his plan in motion.  
  
***  
  
Two days later, Rodney shows up on John's doorstep with bagels. It's barely seven when a bleary-eyed John answers the door in a pair of cut-off sweats. Rodney looks John up and down and knows he made the right decision. He shoves the peace offering into John's arms and barrels through the door.  
  
"What are you still doing here?" John asks warily.  
  
"I have something to show you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Patience, my young Jedi," Rodney teases and he sees a hint of a smile grace John's features. "Breakfast first, and then I'll take you there."  
  
They eat in companionable silence, while sneaking glances at one another. John doesn't bother getting dressed and Rodney doesn't hide the pure lust in his gaze. John is gorgeous – tanned skin and softly muscled chest. His facial features are manly, yet there is a strange delicate quality to them. Some might call him pretty; Rodney just wants to drag him into bed.  
  
Instead, Rodney leads John to his rental car and they drive a few miles to an empty building nearby. "Welcome to the new satellite office of ADC," he announces.  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  
  
Rodney shakes his head.  
  
"So, you expect me to just let you back in my life?"  
  
"I've been doing a little research and I may have some ways to persuade you," Rodney says, grabbing the strings of John's shorts, pulling him closer and kissing him. John tastes like poppy seeds and cream cheese and something warm and spicy, something that Rodney remembers from their first night together that is definitely John.  
  
John laughs against Rodney's mouth and murmurs, "I may be able to be persuaded."  
  
Rodney wraps his arms around John's waist and kisses him harder.  
  
***  
  
They wind up back at John's place and leave a trail of clothing from the front door into the bedroom. Wanting to show off the skills he picked up surfing the web, Rodney pushes John down on the bed. John goes willingly, pulling Rodney on top of him and kissing him deeply. Rodney catalogues the differences in taste and texture as he kisses John back.  
  
Every movement sends a jolt to pleasure to Rodney's cock as they grind against each other. Rodney searches out and memorizes all the hot spots that make John moan and shiver. His mouth trails lower, winding a path through the hair on John's chest and stomach, stopping to nip and suck at John's hipbone.  
  
When Rodney finally reaches his cock, John groans, "Yeah, Rodney." He threads his fingers through Rodney's hair as Rodney tentatively sucks at the head.  
  
Rodney swipes his tongue across the slit, lapping at the bitter fluid building up there. The taste isn't as bad as Rodney anticipated and he could get addicted to hearing John moan his name. He sucks John down further, adjusting to the stretch and pull of John's girth between his lips. Rodney tries a bobbing motion, like he saw in the porn he watched last night. He can't fit all of John in his mouth, at least, not without practice, so he wraps his hand around the base of John's cock.  
  
John's breathing is harsh and his eyes are shut tightly, like he's concentrating hard on remaining still. Rodney wants to offer himself up, to tell John it's okay to fuck his mouth, but he's still unsure about the mechanics of a blowjob and doesn't thinking gagging would be considered sexy. Rodney does pull off long enough to say, "Come in my mouth. I want to taste you."  
  
"Fuck," John gasps and bucks up into Rodney's waiting mouth, filling it with pulse after pulse of come.  
  
Swallowing seems like the easiest option so, Rodney gulps it down until John stops shuddering. John reaches out to wipe a smear of come off Rodney's mouth and Rodney catches John by the wrist. He brings John's hand to his lips and sucks on the pad of his thumb, tasting the last of the salty fluid.  
  
John closes his eyes and his whole body quivers. "Rodney," he moans and pulls Rodney up to kiss him.  
  
Rodney kisses back, gasping into John's mouth as John's hand closes firmly around his cock, stroking slowly. "Yeah, like that." He's already close, so turned on from sucking John off, that he comes embarrassingly quickly when John speeds up the pace.  
  
John doesn't seem to mind; he's too busy sucking the taste of Rodney from each finger and Rodney's cock gives a weak twitch. Their kisses are slower now, less frantic as they share the mingled taste of their come. They doze off pressed together, a tangle of limbs, Rodney feeling more content than he has in a long time.  
  
***  
  
When Rodney wakes up hours later, it's already dark outside. He's hard again, and as he shifts under the covers, he discovers that John is too.  
  
John stirs, sleepy eyes blinking to awareness, and he smiles. "Hi."  
  
"Hey." Rodney can't help smiling back. He takes in the sight of John, with his bed-head and arousal-flushed skin, and can't believe he almost gave this up. His guilt dissipates as John takes them both in hand, jacking them to the rhythm of their synched heartbeats. As the cadence in their chests increases, so does the speed of John's hand.  
  
They're close together; each breath is shared, lips touching gently. When Rodney feels the hot splash of John's come against his skin, his orgasm crests like a wave crashing against the shore. He's drowning in the pleasure of it, gasping for air as each aftershock shudders through him.  
  
John looks just as wrecked as Rodney feels. He releases his grip on their cocks to pull Rodney closer. Their kisses are soft, barely there brushes of lips as they slowly come down from their orgasmic highs.  
  
"Wow," Rodney finally manages to say.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I could really get used to this."  
  
John leans the side of his head on one hand, elbow pressed into the mattress. He looks nervous when he asks, "How used to this?"  
  
Rodney smiles reassuringly. "Every day used to this."  
  
John relaxes against him. "So, what now?"  
  
"Well, I haven't started looking yet, but I was thinking about renting a house close-by."  
  
John avoids Rodney's gaze. "You could stay here with me," he offers.  
  
"Really? Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm sure, too," Rodney says, and kisses John passionately to prove that he means it.  
  
***  
  
Epilogue  
  
Rodney sits at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, with the sound of the ocean as a backdrop. His computer chimes and he pauses a moment to read the latest email from Radek, updating the project schedule. There's a light knock on the door and John walks into the room. Rodney looks up and smiles, and then resumes typing a few lines of code.  
  
John steps behind Rodney and begins to rub his shoulders. "You about ready to go?" he asks.  
  
"Mmm," Rodney answers, leaning into John's touch. "Go where?"  
  
John sighs. "Dinner? For our anniversary? Any of that ring a bell?"  
  
"That was tonight?"  
  
"You forgot," John says flatly.  
  
Rodney swivels in his chair and nuzzles John's stomach. "Not totally," he says. "I got you something." He gestures to a large, flat square propped against the wall, wrapped in dark blue paper. "Go ahead, open it."  
  
John slowly unwraps the gift and grins brightly at Rodney. "You got me a painting of Johnny Cash."  
  
Rodney smiles back and then turns to shut down his computer. "Yes, yes, you can thank me appropriately when we get home."  
  
John stares at the picture, still wearing a dopey grin as he runs his fingers across the canvas. "I think I'm going to hang it over the bed."  
  
Rodney rolls his eyes. "We can decide its new home later, but I need to eat now. I'm starving. When he stands, John comes over and pulls him into a tight hug and Rodney's stomach growls.  
  
John laughs. "You weren't kidding."  
  
"I never kid about dinner."  
  
The sky is clear and the stars twinkle above, lighting the way as they walk to the restaurant. Rodney's life is so different than it was a year ago and he thinks, as they stroll hand in hand, that it couldn't be any more perfect than it is at this moment.  
  
The End

  
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